Chapter 2 The Rogue Robot

The silence following the flour incident lasted exactly four hours—the time it took for Meiling to scrub the ceiling and for Wei to find a “solution” to their labor shortage on a deep-web auction site.

“Wei, why is there a crate labeled ‘Surplus Military Hardware’ in our loading dock?” Meiling asked, her voice tight as she massaged a fresh flour-induced headache.

“It’s not hardware, sis. It’s the future!” Wei declared, prying the wooden lid open with a crowbar. “Meet the Dumpling Master 3000. I got it for a steal from a guy who said it was ‘over-qualified’ for a standard kitchen.”

As the wood fell away, it revealed a stainless-steel tripod with six articulated arms and a single, glowing red eye-sensor. It didn’t look like it made dumplings; it looked like it harvested souls.

“Wei, that looks like a spider from a nightmare,” Meiling whispered.

“Nonsense! Watch this.” Wei tapped a sequence into a greasy control panel. “Master 3000, initiate Dough Folding Protocol Alpha.”

The robot whirred. Its red eye pulsed. Instead of picking up a dumpling skin, it performed a lightning-fast 360-degree spin, its metallic limbs snapping into a defensive stance.

“It’s just… calibrating its range of motion,” Wei explained, sweating slightly.

Suddenly, the robot’s left arm snatched a raw pork bun from the tray. With a sound like a pressurized piston, it launched the bun across the room. It hit the opposite wall with a wet thwack, leaving a crater in the plaster.

“Is it supposed to be a siege engine?” Meiling yelled, diving behind the industrial refrigerator.

“It’s just high-velocity plating!” Wei shouted back, ducking as a second pork bun whistled over his head.

The Master 3000 wasn’t interested in plating. Programmed for combat training rather than culinary arts, it identified the Li siblings as “mobile training targets.” It began a rhythmic, rapid-fire bombardment of dim sum.

“Take cover!” Wei screamed, sliding across the floor and accidentally knocking over a stack of metal trays.

Meiling, realizing the robot had cornered her near the stove, grabbed a heavy, seasoned carbon-steel wok. As a flurry of chive-and-shrimp dumplings flew toward her, she used the wok as a riot shield, the dumplings bouncing off the metal with the sound of hailstones on a tin roof.

“Wei! Find the off switch!” she commanded, parrying a particularly aggressive spring roll.

“The manual is in Russian and binary!” Wei yelled, cowering behind a bag of rice. “I think I found the ‘Stop’ button, but it might also be ‘Maximum Aggression’!”

“Press something!”

Wei lunged for the panel, dodging a flying bun that took out the hanging “Open” sign. He slammed his fist onto a large red button. The robot shuddered, its red eye flickered to purple, and it emitted a long, mournful beep before folding its six arms into a neat, harmless cube.

Meiling slowly lowered the wok, her breathing ragged. The kitchen was once again a disaster zone—though this time, instead of white dust, the walls were decorated with the remains of fifty broken dumplings.

“See?” Wei said, standing up and brushing himself off. “It has a very responsive emergency shut-off. That’s a safety feature.”

Meiling looked at the wok, which now had a small dent. “Wei, if that thing stays, you’re sleeping in the delivery van.”

“But sis! Imagine the marketing: ‘Dumplings served with the speed of sound!'”